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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379877">they got my heart, they got my soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliestarr/pseuds/eliestarr'>eliestarr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Character Study, Found Family, don't ask for a timeline the DCU is a joke, no beta we die like all the robins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:42:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliestarr/pseuds/eliestarr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>There’s the lightest tap of nails across a keyboard in the quiet over the line before she speaks again, this time lower and far softer. “I meant it’s a privilege for me, Jason. It’s always nice, being able to check in on <em>family</em>."</p>
  <p>His boot hits the ledge of the next rooftop a little sooner than he meant to, and his left leg barks in protest, nearly buckling beneath his weight. Jason disconnects his wire with a sharp hiss, grimacing beneath the safety of his helmet. The word bounces around the confines of his red dome, echoing a handful of times before it dissipates, quiet as it came about.<br/></p>
</blockquote>Five times one of the bats call Jason family, and the one he finally says it.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Batfamily Members &amp; Jason Todd, brief mentions of Kyle Rayner/Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>157</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>they got my heart, they got my soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skvaader/gifts">Skvaader</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Coming back to my DC/Batfamily roots all these years later, I hope like hell I can still do them justice lmao. Only for the lovely Gull ♥ happiest of belated birthday wishes, I'm sorry it's four days past, little bird ♥</p><p>title from <em>family</em>, by mother mother.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time it happens, Jason doesn’t find it that strange. </p><p>He’s sparring with Dick, a weekly ritual that started without either really talking about it, somewhere along the line of recovery and reconciliation. </p><p>They’re three rounds in, sweaty and bruised, tied in a game no one’s really keeping track of. They haven’t trained like this since Jason was a kid, a fresh-faced teenager with far too much to prove and a young man wary of the legacy he left behind. He’d never been able to beat Dick back then, stature too small and talent too green. </p><p>But that was years ago, and time has made him a changed man. Now, things are a little more evenly matched. Pain tolerance and stamina heightened by the Pit, muscle and reflexes honed to perfection by liars, assassins and skeletons in both their closets—Jason’s giving the former gymnast a run for his money. </p><p>Or at least, he thinks he is, until a little arrogance blurs his vision and Dick’s sweeping leg knocks Jason’s feet out from under him. He hits the mat hard and his back muscles bark in protest, ribcage stuttering around an aborted breath. <em> Damn smoker’s lungs. </em></p><p>“Dude,” he coughs, dry wheeze scraping up his throat. “We’re on the same side now, y’know. You could like—pull a punch or two.”</p><p>Dick’s smile brightens, a flash of teeth that eclipses the gym’s fluorescent lights. </p><p>“Cmon, Jay,” he steps closer, offering him a hand. “Family doesn’t go easy on each other, you know that.”</p><p>There’s an earnest glow to Dick’s eyes, a kindness to the dimple in his cheeks, and it doesn’t sound like a slip of the tongue. Jason blinks. Once, twice, three times just for good measure, then reaches up to meet him halfway, allowing the other man to pull him to his feet.</p><p>It isn’t the first time Dick has treated him like a brother, so the term isn’t new. It <em> is </em> the first time he’s used it since Jason was a kid, though. Since they’d stood on opposite sides of the law and traded blows in far less friendly terms than they do now. It’s a comfort, but not one that’s entirely surprising to him.</p><p>The word curls in Jason’s chest like embers in a hearth, but the moment passes.</p><p>“Now,” Dick’s lips curve into more of a smirk, and he holds up a hand to taunt Jason forward, adopting a fighting stance once more. “Show me what you got, kid.”</p><p>Jason’s grin feels like coming home, a little. “Try to keep up, old man.”</p>
<hr/><p>The second time it happens, Jason thinks it a little odd, but he and Barbara go back just as far as him and Dick so really—it’s not unwelcome.</p><p>What <em> is </em> a little unwelcome, though, is her voice sounding off loud and clear directly inside his helmet. Across what he <em> assumed </em> was a closed comm link only Dick had access to. In the middle of his abysmally uneventful patrol night.</p><p>(Which is to say: he’d never admit it, but she absolutely startles the shit out of him, and he jumps out of his skin just a little.)</p><p>
  <em> “Docks are pretty quiet tonight, Hood?” </em>
</p><p>Jason bites down on the inside of his cheek, masking his alarm. He swallows, hard, then breathes out over the words: “Didn’t realize playing nice with the good kids granted me access to everyone’s personal ghost.”</p><p>Barbara’s laugh is rich and warm, a rare thing that throws him into the past. Long patrol nights, shadows darting across high rises, and a young Robin cracking jokes just to hear Batgirl’s laugh dance over the comm link before Bats told him to behave. <em> “I consider it a privilege.” </em></p><p>“Really?” Jason snorts, skirting the edge of the building before ziplining to the next, wind whistling through his leather jacket. “I mean, I know I was a little moony over you as a kid, but I thought Dick was the casanova narcissist of the team, not you.”</p><p>There’s the lightest tap of nails across a keyboard in the quiet over the line before she speaks again, this time lower and far softer. <em> “I meant it’s a privilege for </em> <b> <em>me</em> </b> <em> , Jason. It’s always nice, being able to check in on family.” </em></p><p>His boot hits the ledge of the next rooftop a little sooner than he meant to, and his left leg barks in protest, nearly buckling beneath his weight. Jason disconnects his wire with a sharp hiss, grimacing beneath the safety of his helmet. The word bounces around the confines of his red dome, echoing a handful of times before it dissipates, quiet as it came about.</p><p>He tries not to think about the note of sadness in her voice, and what it must be like, having to watch the people you love throw themselves into danger night after night and be unable to join them the way you used to. It twists an old, ugly wound deep in his chest, and Jason knows better than to let it fester. </p><p>Which means he also knows just how to deal with tiptoeing the line of something serious.</p><p>“Weird, I always pegged the Replacement for thinking stalking was a perk of the job,” Jason chuckles, but the words sit a little uncomfortably on his tongue. </p><p>The response the joke garners is instant, though: another laugh, softer and not quite as bright. Barbara’s delight is a warm summer breeze sweeping over him on this chilly fall night in Gotham, and Jason finds it a welcome comfort. Something he hadn’t realized he’d missed.</p><p>
  <em> “Glad to see your sense of humour is still intact.” </em>
</p><p>Jason beams, even though she can’t see it. He scans the warehouse beneath him through the dusty skylight, then heads for the edge of the roof to continue his sweep. </p><p>“You know me, Red—I’m a firm believer in levity in our line of work. Not even the pit could kill that.” He grapples to the top of a construction crane, then down to the fire escape on the next building. “Personally, I think I’m gonna look <em> great </em> with laughter lines when I’m old and grey, assuming I make it that far.”</p><p>There’s a beat, silence over the line, and for a moment, Jason wonders if he’s crossed a line. To him, joking about his first dance with death has been one of the few perks of his resurrection, something nice to offset the scars and nightmares, but he knows not everyone feels the same. </p><p>(Not everyone dealt with his death like Bruce failed to.)</p><p>Then, an amused hum crackles over the comm link, and relief is a high tide cresting over the shores of his heart. <em> “Well, a little bird told me you’re halfway there. </em>”</p><p>Jason barks out a laugh that resonates up the metal ladder he’s hanging onto, and he shakes his head as he scales it. “You said that like it’s a bad thing. I think the white streak makes me look refined, thank you. Elegant, even. <em> Dashing</em>.”</p><p><em> “Not on your life, Boy Wonder.” </em> There’s familiarity tugging at Jason’s lips as he hops the next building to the soundtrack of Barbara’s fingers across a keyboard, and words that <em> really </em> have him feeling young. “ <em> Now, do you want my help finding someone to pummel this evening, or not?” </em></p><p>“I thought you’d never ask, Red.”</p>
<hr/><p>The third time really throws Jason for a loop.</p><p>He’s in the middle of making breakfast in his small, shitty one bedroom apartment when there’s a knock at his door. It’s quick and a little curt, and it makes him frown.</p><p>Kori’s offworld, Roy’s tied up on the other side of the continent and Kyle—well, they usually go to his place. So considering he checks off the <em> exhaustive </em> list of people with his address pretty quickly, he doesn’t really know who could’ve come knocking.</p><p>He sure as <em> hell </em> never would’ve expected it to be Tim Drake. </p><p>(Or, Tim Wayne? Whatever the hell the Replacement goes by these days.)</p><p>In a finely pressed suit and thick woolen coat, a shiny pair of oxfords, and a smile sharp enough to cut glass, Tim looks <em> entirely </em> out of place in Jason’s homely brownstone. And incredibly overdressed, considering Jason’s in dino-print boxers and a loose shirt. He sees the flick of judgement when Tim’s gaze scans over them, and it brings a smile to his lips.</p><p>Jason’s brows rise into his hairline as he leans against the doorframe, pointing a spatula at the younger man. “Well, well, well. To what do I owe the displeasure, Timothy?”</p><p>Tim’s blue eyes narrow beneath loose, dark waves, and his nose wrinkles a little. He looks like he wants to bite back, but swallows it down and instead slips a crisp envelope from an inner pocket of his coat. He holds it aloft between them, angled so that Jason can clearly see a familiar letterhead printed across the right corner, just a few inches askew of his neatly handwritten name.</p><p>“I just wanted to personally invite you to Wayne Enterprises’ New Year Fundraiser in a few weeks,” Tim says, and it doesn’t even sound like the words fight him on the way out, either. Jason’s impressed. </p><p>“He still throws those stupid things?” Jason laughs, but plucks the envelope from Tim’s grasp all the same. He turns his back on the former Robin for a moment to launch the spatula into the sink, then rips the fancy wax seal open. </p><p>“<em>I </em> do, yes,” Tim remarks quietly, watching Jason pull the card free.</p><p>The invitation itself is simple, minimalist print with fancy gold lettering, and features nothing more than a location risen from the ashes of Jason’s youth, and dated timestamp. But the weight of it in his hands is peculiar, as is seeing the name <em> Timothy Jackson Wayne </em> printed across the top of the card, hand in hand with the words <em> cordially invited by</em>.</p><p>Jason blinks at the little thing. He reads it over once, twice, maybe three times just to ensure it sinks in correctly. Each pass over the card strikes at the embers in the pit of his stomach, this slow burning thing that’s been building over the last few months, bigger and brighter with every step on old, long forgotten ground Jason has tread.</p><p>“Huh,” is all he manages, with the little rise and fall of his chest. When he glances up, Tim’s forehead is pinched, but there’s a ghost of a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Something a little uncertain and careful. “You sure about this?”</p><p>The shrug of Tim’s shoulder is easy and effortless, and there’s a tentative warmth to his eyes when he says, “Well, you are family, after all.”</p><p>“I—,” Jason’s throat constricts, and the word ricochets through him like a stray bullet. He almost isn’t sure he heard him right, but judging from the red that blooms across the other man’s pasty cheeks, Jason knows he isn’t losing it. “Uh—can I bring a date?”</p><p>Tim blinks, like the deflection startles him just as much as it does Jason. He frowns. “<em>That’s </em> your takeaway from—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and the tension washes clear of them both as Tim chuckles. “Yeah, whatever. Just bring someone <em> normal</em>, okay?”</p><p>“You invited <em> me </em> , Tim,” Jason smirks, waving the invitation around between them for emphasis. “Your bar for <em> normal </em> is set pretty low.”</p>
<hr/><p>By the fourth time, Jason’s sort of starting to think the whole cave of bats and birds alike are in on a joke that he isn’t.</p><p>He’s just finished beating a group of Joker’s guys black and bloody, dumped them on the GCPD’s front steps wrapped in a festive bow and left a handwritten note displaying the words <em> Naughty List </em> in big, bold lettering when a voice rings out across the street.</p><p>“Hey, Red Hood!”</p><p>Jason’s gaze snaps up to the line of brownstones opposite him, and it only takes him a moment to spot the splash of purple, yellow and black on the nearest rooftop. Batgirl has her hood down, blond hair whipping about in the swirl of snowflakes as she raises an arm to wave. Beside her, Black Bat cradles what looks like a white styrofoam container in one hand, held out between them, and jabs a fork at the contents. </p><p>Jason frowns. “Uh, hi?”</p><p>“You like waffles?” Steph shouts, one hand cupped to the side of her mouth. Cass elbows her gently, and even at this distance, Jason can hear the blond’s bright, bubbly laughter. “Or pancakes, too, I <em> guess</em>.”</p><p>Jason shoots a cautious glance up and down the street, but in the dead of night on Christmas Eve, Gotham’s pretty much a ghost town. He ignores the little voice saying he could still be getting <em> punk’d </em>, or something, and calls back to her over the whistle of winter air. “I’ve been known to partake!”</p><p>“Cool, they gave us an extra fork and doubled our order!”</p><p>It’s as clear an invitation as any.</p><p>Jason radios in the drop off as he reaches for his grappling line, and hooks it onto the neon billboard two rooftops away from where the girls are hanging out. He zips over, cold air ringing in his bones as he lands and hops from one brownstone to the other. By the time he reaches them, they’ve pulled apart enough for him to slip quietly between them, and Cass offers him the extra fork and container with a wordless smile.</p><p>(As he slips off his helmet and places it carefully on the brick behind him, Jason realizes this might be the first time he’s ever seen her without a mask. She’s pretty.)</p><p>He glances down to the takeout container with a chuckle. There’s still a sizeable portion of pancakes left, healthily drenched in syrup and cut neatly into squares, but the waffles—well, <em> waffle</em>, singular, because that half of the container has been absolutely decimated. Kinder than she should be, Steph has left him one strawberry and a lick of whipped cream, though. </p><p>All in all, with the extra cutlery and still warm goods—it feels kind of pointed. Planned. But Jason’s never been one to turn down a hot meal or look a gift horse in the mouth when he still has nightmares of dumpster diving for scraps on the streets, so he devours the offering with haste. When his stomach grumbles partway through, he belatedly realizes he hasn’t eaten since lunch, and he hears both girls laugh gently.</p><p>He cuts through the pancakes, then sets his sights on the waffle as the crowning piece. Steph looses a giggle to his left. “Saving the waffle for last, a man of good taste.”</p><p>He flashes her a toothy grin, and Cass makes a face at his obvious lack of manners. </p><p>Jason’s got enough sense to swallow the bite before he speaks, at least. “Not that I’m ungrateful,” he lifts the container a little for emphasis, “but uh—were you guys waiting for me?”</p><p>They exchange a very pointed look across him, and Jason shifts a little self-consciously.</p><p>Cass drums her fingers on the ledge, looking out across the street. “Oracle called.” A handful of officers pour out of the main doors of the GCPD building, bundled head to toe against the cold, and collect Jason’s delivered criminals.</p><p>“Said you’d be in the neighbourhood,” Stephanie shrugs, pulling her hood up against a flurry of snowflakes blasted by fresh winds. She wrinkles her little button nose, then smiles at him in a way that crinkles the corners of her blue eyes. “We’d already done our drop for the night so we figured…” </p><p>“Invite you to tradition.” Cass leans closer, spearing the last chunk of waffle before he can get to it, and swallowing it with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.</p><p>Jason looks back and forth between them, acutely aware of the warmth pouring off them both, radiating from their heated suits and through every inch where their thighs touch his. Sometimes he kind of misses being outfitted by Fox tech. He laughs a little, loosening the tension coiled along his spine, the smallest shred of doubt that this might be a trap blowing away in the wind.</p><p>“You guys do this after every patrol?”</p><p>“Not every one,” Cass shakes her head, twirling the fork between her fingers. </p><p>“Just the ones on nights we’d rather not be alone,” Steph adds, and it hangs heavily in the air between them. When Jason glances at her, there’s something brutally honest and familiar about the loneliness dimpling her cheeks, curving her lips into a soft but sad smile. An echo of himself, reflected in the dark windows of his apartment when he creeps home before dawn.</p><p>“I’d have figured most of you guys would want to spend Christmas Eve at home,” Jason shrugs, and the scrape of the styrofoam container closing echoes louder than any gunshot on the block.</p><p>Cass looks contemplative, and he thinks with an internal wince that perhaps that wasn’t his best choice of words for present company. Steph, however, looks <em> delighted</em>, like he’s dealt her the exact cards she needed in a game he isn’t aware they’re playing.</p><p>“Home is the people that matter most,” she says, eyes sparkling. They glimmer with fond warmth as she looks across him again, but Cass is playing with the pointed tips of her cape, staring resolutely downwards.</p><p>“Family,” is her quiet offering, and Steph lights up like the big tree in front of city hall.</p><p>“Exactly,” her voice is soft, and she knocks her shoulder against his. “<em>Family </em> isn’t about blood and all that complicated crap, y’know?”</p><p>This time, the word is a match set alight in Jason’s veins, blazing a trail from head to toe as he sits there silently, processing. Out of all of them, these two understand perhaps the most, how it feels to be on the outside looking in. How it feels to come from nothing, and fight every day to prove you deserve to wear the symbol adorning all three of their chests. </p><p>How desperation and validation taste the same, sometimes. </p><p>His smile is a tentative thing, an olive branch that reaches out in either direction. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Anytime, Red.” Steph’s smile is a lighthouse beacon in the dark, and Cass’ hand on his shoulder an anchor holding him to port. “Us dead Evens—we look out for each other.” </p><p>“Me too,” Cass chimes in. Her free palm gently cups his helmet, and the splash of red colouring in her hand isn’t a metaphor that’s lost on him, given their similarities. Jason finds quiet comfort in their company, and thinks that this might just be the first holiday in a long while that hasn’t felt like any other day.</p>
<hr/><p>The fifth time Jason hears the word spoken aloud and directed at him, not only does he think he’s misheard—he thinks he’s straight up fallen into another dimension.  </p><p>The mansion’s underground is loud and bustling with the sound of holiday cheer and jolly festivities. String lights dip down from the rafters of the cave, washing a colourful glow over the stone walls and imposing height of the main computer. There’s a huge tree casting an imposing shadow across most of the open space, more tinsel than should be legal strung along the catwalk railings, and for what might be the first time ever—Christmas music, playing over the cave’s speakers.  </p><p>Jason sort of wonders why they’re down here, and not in the mansion upstairs, but getting tipsy and laughing at the massive santa hat adorning the T-Rex is well worth the dismal scenery.</p><p>He’s three drinks in when Steph and Dick get him dancing. They’re laughing and joy glitters in their eyes beneath the Christmas lights, and the three of them spin and jive and shake to the beat. Well, <em> they </em> do—Jason mostly fumbles his way through it offbeat, the general lack of a gymnast or dancer’s bone in his body. But he has fun with it, which is the important thing, he thinks.</p><p>Barbara’s laugh is a jingle of bells that bounces off the cave walls and slips between them like a delighted song, and that’s when Dick makes his move. He dances his way across the open space towards her, and extends his hand with an exaggerated bow and flourish. Warmth blooms on her cheeks, like winter breathing colour across her skin, and she takes it with a bow of her head. Her chair wheels roll softly over hard tile as Dick spins her in time with the song’s rising crescendo.</p><p>Tim and Cass look on with fond smiles and quiet adoration. At least until Jason spots them, and elbows his remaining companion with mischief curling his lips.</p><p>Steph moves almost instantly, a skip in her step as she glides towards Cass. Her slender fingers wrap around Cass’ delicate wrist, and her warm, inviting smile stretches ear to ear as she pulls her along, blue eyes wide as pleading puppy.</p><p>“No,” Tim says almost immediately, seeing Jason turn towards him. He repeats the word once, twice, three times as the taller man makes his way over. “<em>No</em>. I don’t dance.”</p><p>“Liar! We took classes!” Steph calls brightly from behind him, and Jason smirks. </p><p>“Oooh, the ex hangs you out to dry,” he snickers. “Tough break, Timmy.”</p><p>“The universe really did me a solid, letting you two meet.” Sarcasm drips through every word, but as he wades into the mix, following Jason’s lead and catching Steph and Cass’ delighted smiles thrown his way, there’s something fond curling his lips.</p><p>“You always were a bad liar,” Jason tells him, throwing his hands into the air as one song rolls over into the next. </p><p>And then, under the din of laughter, music and shuffling feet, he hears Damian’s snide voice.</p><p>“Tch. Why can’t anyone in this family just be <em> normal</em>?”</p><p>It stops Jason in his tracks, and he turns to see the youngest Robin standing at the top of the stairs that lead up to the mansion. His arms are crossed, and he’s got disdain curling his upper lip stiffly, painting wrinkles along his nose. The Great Dane standing next to him is nearly his height, and for some reason, that makes Jason laugh.</p><p>“What?” Damian’s eyes flash to him, and his little brows furrow. “That wasn’t a joke, Todd. You’re all incredibly weird.”</p><p>“No,” Steph giggles, face red with the flush of an evening’s worth of alcohol and merry, musical movement. “We’re all incredibly <em> happy!</em> C’mon, Little D, it’s Christmas—lighten up a little.”</p><p>Jason sees the way Damian’s shoulders uncoil at the nickname, the way he unclenches <em> just slightly</em>, and tucks away the knowledge of that for later use. Instead, he opens his arms wide and welcoming to the little twerp with a grin a mile wide. </p><p>“Yeah, Birdboy, c’mon,” Jason laughs. “It won’t kill you.”</p><p>“It might,” Tim says to his right, and Jason steps on his foot. “<em>Ow!</em> See? You’re a menace with two left feet.”</p><p>“You take that back!”</p><p>“Make me, klutz.”</p><p>“Alfred!” Damian calls, stomping back towards the house. “Did you keep the receipt for this family? I want a refund!”</p>
<hr/><p>If Christmas in the Batcave felt weird, New Years at Wayne Enterprises is a whole other world.</p><p>Despite the years between this and the last fundraiser Jason attended on behalf of his adopted family, not much has changed—like the whole event is something frozen in time. It’s many of the same faces and company cards, stuffy suits and fancy cocktail dresses, and an evening of placid smiles and talk small enough to bore him into a second grave. </p><p>But when he’d been young, the newest jewel in the Wayne collection, he’d been the talk of the room. The target of many a doting old lady swathed in white diamonds and fancy silks—that role now falls to the <em> incredibly </em> disgruntled Damian. Now, none of the guests really pay him any mind, given he’s several models old, and for that, Jason’s grateful. It gives him more time to people-watch, to play guessing games about the evening’s guests with Steph and Dick— </p><p>And Kyle, his… date.</p><p>Kyle, who looks <em> real good </em>in a sleek dark suit and green tie, smile sparkling beneath the lights. </p><p>Kyle, who can hold his own amongst the other socialites like he was born to this life, a fake-it-til-you make it attitude that Jason’s always been fond of.</p><p>Kyle, who’s laughing and trading anecdotes with members of Jason’s family and—</p><p>Jason’s hand pauses halfway to his lips, curled around his drink, and his brows pinch together. His mouth snaps close with an audible <em> clack</em>, and he watches the way Kyle’s face lights up as Dick and Barbara erupt into peals of laughter, no doubt at something he said.</p><p>“Something the matter, Master Jason?”</p><p>He nearly startles out of his own skin. Jason’s gaze whips left to see Alfred hovering just beyond his elbow, a gentle grin curling his lips like the old man’s well aware he just spooked him.</p><p>“No,” Jason says, before downing the rest of his glass. He wipes moisture from his mouth with the back of his hand, then turns his attention more fully towards Alfred. “I just uh—I was watching Kyle with the others and—and I had the strangest thought.”</p><p>Alfred raises a brow in question. </p><p>“Just that, well—” He clears his throat, hoping to rid himself of the handful of aborted sentences clogging it, the dozen different ways to say this one very clear thought he’s trying to wrap his brain around. “It makes me happy that my—that Kyle is, y’know getting along with my uh—with family, I guess.”</p><p>The twist of Alfred’s lips tells Jason he knows <em> exactly </em> what he’s getting at, but the old man still asks, probably just for his own amusement: “and why, Master Jason, is that strange?”</p><p>He rubs a nervous, sweaty palm over the nape of his neck, and a timid laugh rumbles through his chest. “I guess it’s just the—the first time I’ve used the term, that's all.”</p><p>“Boyfriend, or family?”</p><p>Jason’s knees almost give out, his lungs skipping a beat as he inhales too sharply and a cough wheezes out of him. “The <em> second </em> one,” he hisses, thumping a hand on his chest. He draws the attention of a few onlookers, but thankfully none of the bats or birds are in range of them.</p><p>Still, a pair of green eyes track him from the other side of the room, and crinkle with a warmth that Jason feels resonate in his bones. A wordless, unwritten <em> home</em>. </p><p>It’s not unlike the feeling he gets when he thinks of rooftop waffles and pancakes on holidays, or when he hears a familiar voice echo through his helmet on quiet patrol nights. Like the rush of sparring on the mats in the cave with his childhood hero and friend, or the feel of a gold foil invitation beneath callused fingers. Like the easy, lilting beat of dancing to Christmas music with loved ones in a place he never thought he’d be welcome in again.</p><p>Beside him, Alfred hums. “Well, I couldn’t be sure, given he accompanied you this evening.” His eyes sparkle with mischief, and Jason feels the other man shave at least five years off his lifespan. “I suppose it’s my mistake, assuming you were <em> finally </em>introducing a partner to your family members.”</p><p>Jason makes a noise in his throat that sounds like a drowning animal again, and he squeezes his own palm with blunt fingernails to swallow it down. “You’re killing me here, Pennyworth.”</p><p>His gaze casts out over the crowd again like a lighthouse beam over the shore. He catches sight of Kyle, clinking his glass to Steph and Dick’s, while Barbara and Cass smile fondly. A few steps away, Tim is chatting with Lucius' daughter, but from the way he’s half turned, his head pointed towards the group even though his eyes don’t leave the conversation, Jason knows he’s listening, too. And though he can’t see him around at the moment, he’s already witnessed Damian’s eyes track Kyle’s lantern ring more than once tonight, and the flash of delight when he’d first spotted him wearing it.</p><p>“But I guess,” he says tentatively, turning back to see Alfred’s proud smile, “that was kind of the point of this, yeah.”</p><p>“Well,” Alfred raises his champagne flute, clinking it against Jason’s empty glass. “As long as you’re happy, Master Jason—then so am I. He seems like a mighty fine young man.”</p><p>“Thanks, Alfred,” Jason says, and he means it, with all the warmth the last few months have returned to him.</p><p>“Now, run along. I suspect Master Wayne will begin the countdown soon, and you wouldn’t want to waste it.”</p><p>Jason’s cheeks burn, and he slinks away to find his date before the numbers start rolling. </p><p>When he rings in the near year—surrounded by friends and family—he does so happier than the last, looking forward to many more, for the first time in a long time.   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find me on <a>twitter</a>, and I hope ya'll enjoyed ♥</p></blockquote></div></div>
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